Biography:Leo Janacek' is one of the most instantly recognisable voices in 20th- century music. His trademarks, such as the stabbing repeated figures on high strings and woodwind (often supported by low brass, with nothing in between), and his declamatory vocal lines, derive their expressive power from the rhythms and cadences of the spoken word, which he so obsessively recorded in the form of "speech melodies". His operas are now part of the standard repertory, but this position was hard won, writes Vincent Deane
This first volume of John Tyrrell's monumental biography takes us as far as the outbreak of the first World War, when Janacek, by then aged 60, was still an unrecognised figure, better known as a teacher than as an opera composer - his obscurity due largely to the malice of a powerful enemy. Even leaving this last problem aside, his career trajectory was highly unusual for an artist. He was born in 1854, the same year as Oscar Wilde; yet by 1900, the year of Wilde's death, he had still to produce his first mature work.
Tyrrell succeeds brilliantly in presenting Janacek's world in exhaustive detail while at the same time creating a vivid portrait of his complex and often abrasive personality. He doesn't avoid his less agreeable aspects, such as his harsh treatment of his wife. The book works by intercutting the forward-moving biography with a series of self-contained studies of important aspects of Janacek's world. These include his eccentric theories of harmony, as well as the various Lilliputian factions that made so many difficulties for him: Prague vs Brno; Bohemia vs Moravia; Smetana vs Dvorak. (When Masaryk wanted to congratulate Janacek on his 70th birthday, he was advised not to because Janacek was pro-Dvorak and the Smetanists might take offence.)
There are also studies of Pan-Slavism, Spas, average earnings in the Habsburg Czech territories, and an interesting account of the composer's health, in which we learn that neurasthenia is still a viable diagnosis in Russia. If the reader wants information on Janacek's extensive studies of folk music, what operas he heard, or how many times he met Dvorak, the answers can be found clearly set out in a series of tables.
There was little in Janacek's background or early history to indicate his future development. He came from a family of village teacher-musicians, and after training at the Augustinian College in Brno (where the prelate was the geneticist Gregor Mendel), he worked as an apprentice teacher and choirmaster, eventually rising to become director of the Brno Organ School. At first he did not show much interest in opera and when at last he turned to it the results were discouraging. For his first attempt, Sarka, he enthusiastically set a text he had come across in a journal, before seeking permission from its author, who refused point blank to allow it to be performed.
Sarka was followed by a slight but attractive piece, The Beginning of a Romance, which the composer himself soon withdrew, largely because he had come to see its use of folk music as plagiarism. But at the centre of this volume is the unhappy story of Jenufa , the 10-year period Janacek spent writing it in its first version and the death of his 20-year-old daughter, Olga, as he was working on its closing pages. One of the most moving parts of the book is the reproduction of Janacek's notes taken at Olga's deathbed, in which he records her dying words in speech-melodic form.
Even then, Janacek's sorrows were far from over. Some years earlier, he had written a wittily crushing review of an opera by one Karel Kovarovic, only to see its composer become artistic director of the National Theatre in Prague, one of the most powerful positions in Czech opera. Whereas a German composer might successfully launch a new opera in any of half a dozen prestigious venues, the National Theatre was the only opera house capable of ensuring a more than local success for a Czech. Kovarovic did not hesitate to take a devastating revenge. When Janacek sent his newly-completed score to Prague it was returned with a curt note stating that it was unperformable. On reading this the composer "broke into terrible sobbing". He had no choice but to settle for a premiere at the opera house in Brno - a converted dance hall, where the orchestra on a good day could muster 29 players (no harp, bass clarinet or cor anglais).
Against the odds, Jenufa was a great success, but a local one only. In response to grovelling letters from the composer, Kovarovic grudgingly attended one performance but was to remain implacable for a further 12 years, when his resistance was eventually worn down by the persistent intervention of influential friends of Janacek .
Kovarovic continues to throw a long shadow over Jenufa, for he made it a condition of its acceptance at Prague that he render the score suitable for performance. This involved numerous cuts and changes (smooth horns for rambunctious trombones, for example) and a glossy rewrite of the closing scene. Kovarovic's changes made Janacek's score much more immediately palatable to an audience used to Strauss and Puccini (shades of Rimsky's cosmetic job on Boris), genuinely contributing to its success.
ON THE OTHER hand, the audience at Brno had little difficulty in responding to the piece as originally written and it is also probable that rumours that Janacek needed to have his score patched up damaged his reputation. When Ernest Newman heard Jenufa he dismissed it as "only a cut above the amateur".
The situation became more complicated when the influential publishing house, Universal Edition, engraved Jenufa from the Kovarovic score, with the result that this was the only version known to most operagoers until the Mackerras Decca recording appeared in 1982 (coinciding with the first recording of the de-Rimskified Boris). Now that modern audiences can accept Janacek on his own terms the Kovarovic is clearly past its sell-by date (though surprisingly it was this version that Opera Ireland chose to use for its recent centenary production).
With the Prague performances, Janacek's name soon spread throughout Europe. But the full story of the breakthrough and of the four great operas that were to follow, written in the composer's 60s and 70s, will be told in Volume Two.
Vincent Deane wrote the text of Gerald Barry's opera The Intelligence Park, now issued as a recording by NMC
Janacek - Years Of A Life, Volume 1 (1854-1914): The Lonely Blackbird By John Tyrrell Faber and Faber, 971 pp. £60 A biography of Czech composer Leo Janacek reveals a complex, abrasive personality